Sunday, 19 December 2010

Greasy Jimmy

I have been phoning various 'caring' agencies for advice or even some help.

Scottish Water were sympathetic but don't touch private supplies, the STFA have not replied yet, etc.

Now, I shall not name the quango but felt they may have been able to help us.

Ring, ring...."Hellooo, This is Useless Quango, Mr Completely Disinterested speaking, how may I help pew?"

I explained the situation in full and waited for his response........

.........there were munch noises.

Every one of my fifty years pulled themselves up to their full height and I was incensed.

"Young man.... would it be an enormous inconvenience if you removed the pie from your mouth and spoke to me properly?"... I was aware of my accent becoming more Scottish than was strictly necessary the angrier I got. I sounded like Mrs Doubtfire.

"It's a sandwich, not a pie".

I hoped he would choke on his pie, nay, sandwich and someone in the office would rush over and perform the Heimlich Maneuver except get it wrong and take their foot off his gluteus maximus instead.
I hoped that the Slavering Hounds of Satan would charge into his office, breathing fire and snot and one of them would accidentally knock his sandwich onto the floor then tread on it with it's cloven, stinking foot.
I hoped the sandwich was egg and onion and he would get terribly bothered with wind.

I knew straight away that Greasy Jimmy was going to be unhelpful because he was Having His Lunch.

"Thank you. You have been helpful in the extreme" I said, through a very tight mouth.

"Wfffuoooomumfff" said Greasy Jimmy the Piemuncher, through his second bite.

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